Estel
by Navana
Summary: It was riding against the evils befalling MiddleEarth, that Arathorn was slain by the keen shot of an orc arrow. He had left behind not only a wife and son, but a liniage that spanned many of the great bloodlines of old.
1. Hope

It was riding against the evils befalling Middle~Earth, with Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of the Lord Elrond, Half-elven, Lord of Rivendell, that Arathorn was slain by the keen shot of an orc archer. It was then by the will of Elrond, that his son, Aragorn, and his loving wife, Gilrean, went to Rivendell. They then lived with the Lord of Rivendell, who became the missing father in the young life of Aragorn, who was only two at the time. However, Arathorn had not only left behind a wife and son, but also a legacy and lineage that all came together in the blood of his only forbearer, young Aragorn.  
  
"Gilraen," Elrond's voice called to her. Peacefully, she sat at the rail of a balcony overlooking the lush gardens of Imladris. In her lap rested a young child, no more than two and a half years old. At his call, she turned from the baby and looked directly into his eyes. In her eyes he saw sorrow like a wilted flower in the mist of a blossomed garden. "I have long thought about the future of yourself and the child." His words were gentle. Before him was a woman who had not only barely had a chance to grieve for her husband's passing, but was faced with the safety of her son whom she would risk life itself to sustain. "It is not wise to spread news of his survival. I have heard many stories that he is dead, though we know he is definitely living."  
  
Slowly, he walked over. At first sight of him, the child smiled. Although he was only two years of age, Elrond knew that there would yet be a day where he would grieve for the loss of his father, the father he never knew. His father's lineage was a burden all it's own, but for it to be laid on a child so young that was without it's father was almost condemning it to a fate of fear and unrest; for the enemy would forever hunt this young child. "It is not safe, Gilraen, for his lineage to be spread, for the very same forces that defeated Arathorn will yet hunt Aragorn." Though it was not an easy thing to hear, she could only sit there, gently stroking the babe's head as it began to drift off to sweet slumber.  
  
"What can we do?" Gilraen finally spoke. "His blood is his. No magic can take that away from him."  
  
"No. No magic can, but it is not his face the enemy knows, for he his but a child, though they do know his name. And that is what I have come to speak with you about. It would be in his best interest to hide his lineage from him until he is of the right age to hear it." Sadness entered Elrond's heart at the words for he loved the child and only wished the best for him.  
  
Within, she knew that his words were but only another kindness he was offering her, though it hurt her to know that her son would not know of his own lineage. Sullenly, she nodded. For a moment, she could only look at the settling form in her arms; so peaceful, so tranquil, so innocent. "It will be done as you say," she assured him. "Though then what name shall he be called?"  
  
For a moment, Elrond stood for a moment, still lost in thought. "Few names can be chosen at birth and be absolutely true to their bearers, however, there is one name that I know for certain is destined for your child, let it be given by myself then, if you will my lady, the name Estel."  
  
And so it was that from that day forward, his lineage was rumored dead, though the spies of the enemy persisted in their search. 


	2. Journies

Aragorn not only grew quickly, but he grew strong and was an apt learner amongst the elves. It came then, that he would grow into manhood at a young age. At the age of sixteen, he was not only a skilled swordsman, but becoming skilled as well with the bow and arrow.  
  
The dusty gray of the evening sky drew but a small shadow over the radiant gardens that seemed to flow like water from the mountains and through the valley like a lake of lush greenery. In the shadows of a gentle birch stood a figure adorned in blue and gray. His deep brown hair flowed down only to his ears. The boy was not yet a man, but was almost to age. From underneath a few loose locks of hair, glacier blue eyes glistened like the stars in the heavens. His hand gripped the hilt of an elvin sword, it's blade inscribed with runes of that of the elves. Skillfully, he spun it, the polished steel glimmering in the dwindling daylight.  
  
"Estel!" called a voice from behind him. At the top of a grand staircase, a figure stood, his brown hair waived gently in the breeze, then fell softly against his teal attire. His gentle complexion seemed to match that of his surroundings; fair, yet fading like the fading of autumn into winter. His ears came slightly to a point for he was an Elf. At the sound of the call, the boy looked up at him, smiling.  
  
"Elladan!" he ran forward, greeting him as one would greet a brother. "Your father told me that you were searching for me?" When he finally reached his friend at the top of the stone staircase, he sheathed his sword, then looked long at his friend.  
  
"That I was." The Elf's eyes studied the garden for a moment, then turned to the one he had called Estel. His face was warm and gentle in the same way that his father, Elrond, was; welcoming but always troubled.  
  
Estel's joy seemed to fade slightly, though it seemed that he had been overcome by a great joy that day. "What was it that you wanted?" he prompted.  
  
"Elrohir and I are leaving on a journey sometime in months ahead," he began. "My father thought it a good idea if you were to come with us." The news was indeed surprising. An even greater smile crossed his face.  
  
"Journey?"  
  
"Yes, we are to ride to Forodwaith late in Lothron." It was clear that Estel wished to go.  
  
For a moment, Estel thought. Never has Lord Elrond willed for me to leave the valley of Imladris, and now he wishes for me to ride with Elladan and Elrohir north to Forodwaith. "Do you will it?" Though Elladan was ages older than Estel, they seemed almost akin; like brothers.  
  
"Of course, Estel," he smiled warmly and placed his hand on Estel's shoulder. "With your sword, you will yet do great things."  
  
And so in late Lothron, the sons of Elrond rode forth from Rivendell; Estel in their company. The three defeated many dangers and the first of the great deeds of Aragorn were amongst the brethren that his own father had fallen amongst. Months passed before he returned to Rivendell, but he would soon leave for yet more adventure. In this same fashion, four years passed. 


	3. Home

The smooth gait of the horse beneath him slowed as Estel, with Elladan and Elrohir beside him, rode beneath the gentle eves of the elvenrefuge of Rivendell. Before them, the scattered buildings spanned through trees and over brush. Happily, Estel smiled. It's good to be home.  
  
"Come my brothers," Elrohir rode his horse towards the stables. Estel smiled at Elladan and then followed Elrohir down a small, well-trodden path.  
  
By the time he had reached the stables, Elrohir had already dismounted and was stroking his horse's neck. His familiar voice laughed as he spoke to a figure, who's back was faced towards Estel.  
  
Though they had many times returned to Rivendell, it seemed as if Estel had become even older than simply four years time. The once-short brown locks now fell about his shoulders, which were now broad and strong. He no longer rode with both hands securely on the horse as those who simply ride about the valley, he now rode with one hand on the reigns and the other rested at his side easily. Most of all though, his eyes no longer held that youthful glow they once did; instead, they held a fury that only one who had seen many a battle held.  
  
At his approach, the dark-haired figure that stood before him turned, smiling. It was Lord Elrond. Immediately, he noticed the growth in him. "Estel," he warmly greeted him. "Welcome home." Agilely, he lifted one leg and slid down the side of the horse, his cloak flowing down like wind from the mountains.  
  
"Thank you, my lord," he said as he patted the side of his chestnut horse. Then, he walked over to the two elves. Just behind him, Elladan walked up.  
  
"Maar artuile, Ada," Elladan smiled. The four stood for a moment. It seemed that Elrond had something on his mind.  
  
"Welcome home, all of you." A few elves walked over and made themselves busy unsattling and cleaning the three horses. A warm smile crossed his face. "Come! You must tell me of your adventures! Where have you been riding from?"  
  
"We have just come from the far south, Enedwaith and Horandor before that," spoke Elrohir. The two twins looked scarcely tired nor worn by long years of traveling. However, Estel looked to be aged by more than just four years. The wisdom that he had gained shown through like the radiant sunlight. His garb was still that of the elves, though it looked as if it had adapted a few human touches as well.  
  
"And the borders of Gondor and Rhun before that," Estel spoke up, smiling proudly. The three had created a camaraderie between them. They truly were brothers.  
  
"It has almost been a year since you have returned last. I know now why."  
  
The four of them walked down a path through a grove of trees. Though it had be a long time since they had been in Imladris, it was almost unchanged. The leaves on the ground were thicker than the last time they had returned, though it had been earlier in autumn last year.  
  
"It was indeed a long way," Estel smiled. "Though we have finally returned home."  
  
"And this is well indeed, my sons."  
  
The four men walked amongst the gardens for a time, telling tales of their journeys abroad, of deeds and misfortunes. It was a dream come true to be home once more, though, and all three of them agreed. As the sun began to sink beyond the horizon, they made their way towards the banquet hall.  
  
Scents of spices and herbs danced through the air, tingling the scenes as they approached the grand hall. All three of the travelers grinned widely, for they knew that a feast in Imladris was that of kings. Proudly, they strode into the hall where a large host of people awaited their arrival. Amongst them, to the content of Estel was his mother, Gilraen.  
  
The feast wore down and many of the people found themselves wandering into the Hall of Fire to relax and take in a bit of lore and good tales from Elrohir, Estel, and Elladan. Each told tales of bravery and valor.  
  
Near the drawing of the evening, when slowly, the people found themselves nodding off to sleep, they one by one, disappeared back to their rooms to drift peacefully to slumber, Elrond came to Estel. "I wish to speak with you alone," he told him. At first, he was confused, though he trusted Elrond with every bit of his existence, so he agreed and rose from his seat by the fire and followed his foster-father beyond the hall and into the great study.  
  
"Estel," he began as he walked towards a large chest in the corner. "Long have been your years and many have been your great feats." For a moment, he stopped and turned to face the young man. "And here I deem you ready and aged enough to hear what I have to say."  
  
Curious and strange at first were the words of Elrond to Estel. Though slowly, he began to understand that this was indeed important; life changing. "When you were a young child, I took in you and your mother after the death of your father, Arathorn, heir to the line of the Kings of Numenor. For your safety, I thought it best that your name hidden for there were many spies of the enemy that sought you. When you were born, you were called Aragorn and from here on, it is your name, though I would advise caution yet." Again, he resumed his stroll towards the chest.  
  
"You are the latest heir to Isildur, Aragorn." Even though he was not facing Aragorn, the man could read it through his voice. He was proud to tell him this and relieved that he now knew. "And here you now know, you know the truth." Again, Elrond turned towards him after he finally reached the chest. For a moment, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, stood in awe of what he had been told.  
  
"Many road lie ahead of you, though I fear that none are clear of obstacles and problems." Slowly, Aragorn walked to Elrond's side before the chest. Reverently, Elrond lifted the lid of the long-closed chest. Within lay a slew of cloths and boxes. Amongst them, Elrond reached within and removed a box about the size of his powerful but care worn hands.  
  
"These are heirlooms of your house," he gestured to the contents of the crate. "And here is one of the many beloved gifts your bloodline bears." Carefully, he lifted the lid to reveal within a ring resting on a pillow of deep navy. "The Ring of Barahir. It has belonged to your kin since the days of Beren and the height of Morgoth."  
  
Carefully, Aragorn lifted the ring, a symbol of two serpents and a crown of flowers. One upheld the crown, while the other seemed to be biting it. Laid within were emeralds that shimmered from the serpents' eyes. After examining it, he easily slid it onto his finger, and surprisingly, it fit perfectly.  
  
Elrond smiled.  
  
On this night, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor and Anor, took up what was once so long forgotten amongst the race of Men. The final chance for the line of the kings of Men was alive and breathing, though unsure of his path.  
  
He would go on into exile, though never forgotten is the tale of the meeting of Aragorn and the lady Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond, beneath the silver birches of the enchanting night. Though ill-fated it seemed, the hope for men lived on through his own means and with hope that one day he would fulfill the dreams that appeared out of the mists of time to bring out the light. 


End file.
